On the Firing Squad
by butterfly52
Summary: Hugo's first instinct was to lower his gun; surely the honorable and just thing would be to take a live prisoner rather than shoot an unarmed man. But when no one else similarly relaxed, Hugo came to the first of two horrid epiphanies: he was a part of a firing squad. The second came when he made eye-contact with the defeated rebel leader: he knew the condemned from long ago.
1. Chapter 1

**_On the Firing Squad_**

**Some notes:**

So this is my first crack at _Les Miserables _fanfiction, so I hope it goes well. I'm so fascinated by the character of Enjolras (who isn't, really?), so I wanted to do something that looks at his family background and especially his family's reaction to the news of his death and the barricade. I also wanted to give some voice to the French soldiers who opposed the students in the line of duty. I'm not sure how terribly historically accurate my original character, the working-class guardsman Hugo, is, and I'm certain that the circumstances I've contrived for him to have a connection to Enjolras are spectacularly unlikely, but I hope it makes for a good story.

My most sincere apologies to any speakers of the French language whom I may embarrass with my randomly selected generic French sounding names for original characters. Also, I have here assumed that Enjolras is a first name, not a surname. I've seen it used as both in fanfics I've read, but I'm pretty convinced its a first name, so that's how I've used it. If that's incorrect, please let me know. I may not change it, but I'll appreciate the knowledge.

I've never seen _Les Mis _on stage (unfortunately) and I haven't read the book(on my to-do list for when I have lots of time). I've seen the 2012 film, listened to the many different cast recordings many many times and read things about the book and how it differs from the play. So I would describe this as movie/book-verse for Enjolras's death. I may opt in a further chapter to omit Grantaire's involvement. Not to diminish its epicness but I'm just not sure how well he'll fit into this story I've imagined.

Lastly, disclaimers: I don't own anything, this is just for fun. Enjoy:

The atmosphere in the cafe was like something out of a nightmare. The early June air was, for the first time that summer, genuinely hot and it exacerbated the sweat and the stench. Hugo's uniform felt double its weight as he neared what he hoped was the end of the longest night of his life. The horrors he'd seen in the last hardly-countable hours shook him to the core. He for the first time sincerely and deeply regretted his decision to join the National Guard.

Hugo, just nineteen, was the son of working-class military man who died when he was a small child. Joining the Guard was a natural choice. It was respectable and made his family proud. But perhaps most importantly, his mother was filled with relief that he was unlikely to be sent somewhere far away. In the months since joining, Hugo was pleased with his choice. He worked hard, but found the work of keeping order in times of crisis to be highly satisfying. Despite the growing unrest in Paris, nothing in his brief career could have prepared him for this chaos. Now, here in the upper floor of the cafe where the last of the rebels had retreated to, he began to question his whole life. Suddenly, as he looked at the bullet-riddled bodies of boys his own age, as his nose constantly failed to adjust to the biting foulness of rotting flesh, as he waded through pools of blood, and mostly, as he couldn't be sure if or how many of his own bullets had ended lives, he was less and less convinced that he was fighting the good fight.

There was only one of them left now. The rebels' handsome leader stood solemnly as guardsmen flooded in and cornered him against the window of the cafe. They formed ranks against him with weapons drawn and Hugo filed into place. He felt like a coward, but he suddenly couldn't bare to look at the man, at least not in the face. Soon the whole thing would be over, a moment Hugo desperately longed for. But now he was realizing the ghoulish implication of this; for relief to come, this last man had to die. It would happen soon, but Hugo felt wrong for the comfort he felt in that inevitability. He was wishing a man's final moments to hurry away and that wasn't lost on him. It occurred to Hugo that he needed to look and face the unmitigated gravity of his involvement, as if in an act of penance.

Just as he did, the man threw down his gun. It strangely didn't seem to be an act of surrender. He stared down his executioners with his steel blue eyes and raised the red banner in his hand above his head defiantly. Hugo's first instinct was to lower his gun; surely the honorable and just thing would be to take a live prisoner rather than shoot an unarmed man. But when no one else similarly relaxed, Hugo came to the first of two horrid epiphanies: he was a part of a firing squad. The second came when he made eye-contact with the defeated rebel leader: he knew the condemned from long ago.


	2. Chapter 2

**Updated!  
**The chapter hasn't actually changed, but I've decided after all to make a change after a very helpful message from a reader informed me that "Enjolras" is indeed a surname. I know I said I would just keep it, but as I wrote ahead, it bugged me to know I was using it wrong, so I did a little switch-a-roo since the nice generic last name I'd chosen for him seems to work even better as a first name. Other than that, nothing's changed. Thanks for reading and reviews/constructive tidbits are extremely appreciated!

When Hugo was three, his newly widowed mother, Adele, direly needed to find work. They lived in a country village outside of Paris on the estate of one of the few massively wealthy families to have come through the revolution relatively unscathed. A generation later, the Enjolras's were mostly well-liked and the young Madame Enjolras was known for her generous heart. People said she brought out the kindness in her higher-born husband and helped guide the family into a slightly more modern and socially conscious way of life. When she heard that the widow of one of France's heros in uniform sought employment as a house-maid, she insisted they take her on and, much to Monsieur Enjolras's chagrin, arrange for her boy to be minded by their own governess along with their son, Alexandre, while his mother worked during the day.

Hugo's memories of this time were mostly fleeting. Most of what he knew was filled in over the years by his mother. Adele, in constant fear that the strange arrangement would be problematic if kept up until her Hugo was old enough to understand, found another placement in the village in less than two years. But during that interlude, Hugo spent the days in what was decidedly someone else's world. The other boy was almost three whole years older than him, and at first very annoyed at having to have anything to do with who he regarded as a baby. He was often off in his own world, and practically ignored Hugo. But where the young Alexandre was predictably unfriendly, the seasoned-old English governess was cruel. She resented what she thought was a self-indulgent social experiment by the lady of the house and saw caring for a maid's child as an affront to her professional dignity. She would neglect Hugo and viciously chastise him for anything slightly resembling misbehavior, then dote on a disinterested Alexandre.

Alexandre had been a sickly kid in his early years. Of course unbeknownst to Hugo, his older companion was seriously behind other boys his age in terms of preparing for school because of his many illnesses. Hugo's most vivid memories of his time in the grand house stemmed from the hardest fight of the child's young life. One day when Hugo was four and Alexandre was about to turn seven, the latter never appeared in the nursery. This wasn't unusual, but when it kept up beyond a full week, even Hugo at his young age knew something was wrong. The governess was anxious and nastier than usual. She barely interacted with Hugo, but when she did, she made a comment that disturbed him for reasons he didn't understand.

"You know, I could soon be out of a job and you could soon be out of luck," she mumbled as she fed him only half his lunch.

That night Hugo begged his mother to tell him what she meant. Adele, from working in the house, knew that the boy's condition, characterized by a brutal and unexplained fever, was rapidly deteriorating. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence to hear Madame Enjolras wailing in the grand house. That day however, Adele got an idea of how serious it really was when she caught a glimpse of Monsieur Enjolras, the always stoic and dignified gentleman, in the hall hiding his reddened face in his hands, hunched over sobbing. At home that night, hearing her son repeat the governess's words made her heart hurt. Alexandre Enjolras had everything her own child never would; there were times she even resented the kid she hardly knew for this fact. But now it was clear that death paid no heed to wealth and class. And in just her twenty seven years, Adele had known enough of death. The thought that it would come for a six year-old child was horrifying. She scooped her son onto her lap and tried to find the best words to explain.

"Hugo, my darling," she said. "Alexandre is very sick."

"He's sick a lot," said Hugo.

"I know," she replied. "But this time, its worse than normal." She paused and took a deep breath. "They're taking very good care of him, but even still, he might go to Heaven soon."

Hugo was silent.

"I don't want to frighten you, but you should know," his mother said. "And the doctors don't think that what he has is catching, but since you're around Alexandre a lot, just like I always tell you, you must tell me or Mademoiselle Flincher right away if you ever feel the least bit unwell. It's unlikely and you mustn't be scared because you probably wouldn't get so ill since you've always been healthier than he, but you still must tell someone immediately." Hugo wasn't scared by this because he felt perfectly fine. Alexandre had never made him sick, even when they spent whole days in the same room.

"He might go be where Papa is?" Hugo asked quietly after a long reflection. Adele had to wipe a tear from her eye at the suggestion.

"Yes, my darling," she said. "It's very sad, and you know that Monsieur and Madame Enjolras would be broken-hearted, but if Alexandre dies, he'll go to that wonderful place I've told you about. Where Papa is. And he'll be happy and well-cared for there. And someday, his parents, with all their sadness and grief, will see him again and it will be a happy reunion, just like how in many, _many_ years our family will be reunited."

Hugo started crying, though he at first wasn't sure why. He and Alexandre weren't exactly dear friends. Hugo was a lonely kid. The older boy was naturally an object of his admiration, but Hugo's only companion hardly noticed him. Now he was dying and Hugo was overwhelmed by his feelings. His mother squeezed him closely and soothed him until he eventually fell asleep.

Three days later, a priest was summoned to the grand house. The normal hustle and bustle of running such a house slowed to a stop as everyone from the butler to the scullery maids felt the weight of sadness in the house. Everyone thought this was the day the young heir would die. Hugo sat quietly in the nursery while the governess ignored him until the afternoon when his mother, to his surprise, came in.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion," she said. "But I'm going to take Hugo home for the afternoon. They've asked for some peace and quiet without us bustling around tidying."

The governess didn't object and Adele took Hugo by the hand. Adele intended to hurry out and leave the family to their grief, but when they were in the hall, Hugo stopped.

"Mama," he said quietly. She crouched down to see him at eye-level.

"Yes, dear?"

"I, I want," he stammered then took a deep breath. "I want to say goodbye." Adele hugged him tightly.

"I'm not sure if that will be possible," she said softly. "His parents need to be with him now."

"I won't be long," Hugo protested. "I don't know. He won't notice, I don't think he even likes me much. But I just think, I just think I maybe I wanna say goodbye."

Adele considered the proposition for a moment. She was quite sure it would be inappropriate to even make such a request, but she admired her son's compassionate instinct at such a young age. Maybe she would do him great harm by not letting him act on it; then again, maybe she would do him great harm by indulging him too. Finally, after looking in his innocent eyes, she decided. "I'll see what I can do."

They walked quietly down the upstairs hallway. Adele knew the quickest and least intrusive ways around the house from her work. Outside the boy's room, there was commotion; nurses going in and out, the priest talking with various visiting relatives. And the sound of stifled crying could be heard from several doors away.

"Can I help you?" asked a well dressed old woman who Adele vaguely recognized as Alexandre's paternal grandmother. She looked cold and impatient.

"My boy was wondering if he could see him, Madame," she said quietly.

"So this is the maid's boy?" she asked. "I heard about my daughter-in-law's peculiar arrangement."

Hugo instinctively shrunk behind his mother.

"Now is not a good time," said the woman. "But thank you for your concern, dear." Her voice struck them both, including Hugo who was so young to be so aware of the subtleties of adult interaction, as patronizing and insincere. Adele knew it wasn't worth arguing, and began to turn around with Hugo.

"Come on, love, we'll go to church and say a prayer for a him," she offered softly.

"Wait," they both stopped when they heard the shaking voice of Madame Enjolras.

"Madame," said Adele turning back around. The woman in front of her looked broken by the weight of it all. Her face was red and swollen from crying. Her clothes, all finely made and worth more than a year of Adele's wages, were wrinkled and disheveled from having been slept in. Suddenly the two women saw each other as equals in a very profound way. They were not the wife of a rich land-owner and a widowed house-maid; they were mothers. One of them was in the throws of a mother's worst nightmare, and the other ached for her.

"Please tell me your boy's not sick too," Madame Enjolras whispered desperately. "The doctor tells me not to worry about that, but I can't help it. This whole thing was my idea and I'd feel responsible."

"No, madame," Adele insisted eagerly. "None of this is your making. And Hugo is fine." She took a deep breath. "He's been very worried. In fact, he was hoping to visit with him for just a little while. I wasn't sure it was a good idea, but I promised we would ask."

Alexandre's mother, in her sleep-deprived and highly stressed state, was fragile and prone to outbursts of emotion. She started crying immediately. "That's so kind," she said between breaths.

"Can I?" Hugo asked timidly. His mother quietly grunted and tugged his arm gently to coax him to remember to add, "Madame?"

She crouched down to Hugo's level and looked him in the eye. "I think that would be a good idea, little one. But you need to know that he might not realize you're there. And you can't stay long. But it will still mean a lot, even if it doesn't seem to, if you just go in and say hello."

"Thank you," said Adele. Before she walked with him into the room she sternly warned him to be very quiet and not disturb any of the adults in the room.

Alexandre's father, seated dutifully on one side of the bed, was gently dabbing his son's soaked forehead with a cloth as the doctor spoke quietly with a nurse in the corner. On any other occasion he would have objected vocally to the oddity of a maid bringing her child into one of the family's bedrooms, but today, that didn't seem to matter. He'd heard the exchange outside the door between his wife and the maid, and even he, who'd been raised to put enormous stock in social rules and customs, and who once practically thought his wife's idea about daytime care for the child would bring about the crumble of society, was touched by the gesture.

"Alex," he said softly. "Alex, your friend's here to see you." Alexandre was barely awake, but he opened his eyes and mumbled a noise similar to a greeting. His father motioned for Hugo to come closer. He reluctantly approached the bed. Alexandre turned his head weakly.

"Hi," Hugo mumbled. Suddenly he felt like he shouldn't be here and he didn't know what to say. But Alexandre, who normally was to occupied with his own private world to have much use for Hugo, cracked a small smile. He tried to say something, but the result was a coughing fit. This startled Hugo.

"Just get better soon, Alexandre," said Hugo hurriedly. Alexandre mumbled something and coughed some more, but met his eyes. Hugo decided it was time to go.

"Thank you, Hugo," said Monsieur Enjolras. Hugo sat silently for a moment, then turned and scurried toward his mother. Adele scooped him up into a hug before setting him back down. He was a tall four year-old and she couldn't manage to carry him like she used to, so she enjoyed those quick moments when she managed to pick him up, even for just a second or two.

"I'll show you out," said Madame Enjolras, to Adele's surprise. "I could use a little walk."

"Thank you, Madame," said Adele with Hugo quietly in tow.

"Marie," she replied quietly. "It's Marie. Please."

"Oh, Madame, I couldn't," said Adele as they made their way down the hall. For a house-maid to call the lady of the house by her first name was unthinkable.

"I insist," Marie pressed. "Maybe not around my mother-in-law, she'd have a fit. But I just want to be talked to like a human being today."

"Ok," said Adele.

"My husband and I have been so fortunate," said Marie. "In everything. I know we have so much when most people have so little. What have we done to deserve any of it? What if that's why this is happening? What if the Lord only lets us have so much good fortune? I would give away the last sou if I thought it would stop this, oh God, He must know I would!"

Adele was sympathetic, but lost for what to say. To hear Marie speak so candidly about this was so unexpected that she had no social script for it. She was torn, worrying that she had to say something, then finally relieved when Marie broke the silence and got her off the hook.

"The doctor says now it might not be today," she said. "He was so bad this morning, I had them fetch Abbé right away. He's suffering so much, but I just don't want it to be over. I want every minute God will give me. I couldn't be without him. My husband's mother told me today that I'm young and there can be more children. I couldn't bare to hear it. I don't want more children, I want him. I don't want him to leave me yet. Today, tomorrow or ever."

"Of course you don't, Mad-" Adele started. "Marie."

"What if he just lingers here for days, suffering more and more? What kind of mother would wish for that? Who would wish that for the person they love most in the world?"

By this time they were almost at the door.

"I'm truly sorry," said Marie. "I hope you'll forgive me my lapse in manners because of today. I shouldn't speak of such things to you. It's not proper of me and I'm afraid I've put you and your boy in a terribly uncomfortable place with my meddling."

Adele stood quietly for a moment searching for what to say. "There is nothing to forgive. You've never been anything but kind to us, and I don't imagine there's fault in that," she began. "And we must keep hope. As long as he breathes, there is hope. We will pray every day."

"Thank you."

-

Sorry to end with the world's least suspenseful cliffhanger. I'm intending for future chapters to be closer in length to this one, rather than the short first chapter, so I'm not certain yet what a posting schedule will be like. Hope you're enjoying it though!


	3. Chapter 3

**This was originally a single chapter, but it ended up being very long, so I've spilt it. Again, I really appreciate any and all feedback, positive or negative. Hope you enjoy: **

Alexandre didn't die that day or the next, but the house was far from feeling relief. Talk of the child's illness spread quickly through the village and most of the people were genuinely saddened; the death of a young child was an atrocity that was beginning to happen less, but any occurrence was too often. His parents were, in something of a social paradox, objects of pity in the village. Gossip spread rapidly about what would become of the estate if the young heir perished. It was unusual that at nearly seven years old, Alexandre had no younger siblings yet. Rumors quietly swirled over the years that there was something wrong with Madame Enjolras, or that something had gone terribly wrong during the first birth. While gossip and speculation were an eternal part of country life, the times had been changing enough that people cared less than they may have in another era. And of course, no one would ever truly find out such details about the couple so the speculation was a fruitless endeavor for people who were actually curious. But in the days when the boy's fate looked so grim, people wondered more intently if Monsieur Enjolras would sire another son, or more precisely, if his wife would ever be whole enough to be a mother again, because it was no secret how much she worshipped Alexandre. Times were changing. The estate had belonged to the Enjolras family for many generations. But without Alexandre to take his expected place as owner, what would become of it in a generation? It was well known that Monsieur Enjolras's three brothers were all dead without families, so the next closest male relative might be so far removed as to not be worth the effort.

Maybe in a generation, pieces of land would be sold off bit by bit for one reason or another, and with no son to leave legacy for, the sad old couple wouldn't care much about preserving the estate. Maybe in a generation, all this land would be owned by many different people. Most of the villagers of a certain age had lived through the revolution and the recent return to the monarchy. Even the least politically interested among them appreciated just how unpredictable the future was. Alexandre's illness was undeniably sad, but to the many ordinary people with no personal connection to him, it also represented an interesting development.

But the days went on, and the boy was still alive. He didn't improve for a long time, but at some point, he stopped getting worse. The doctors were baffled and professionally embarrassed. They could explain neither the initial illness nor its slow reversal. There were setbacks, days when he looked to be turning back for the worse, and nights he seemed unlikely to make it through, but over a few weeks, these got less frequent.

Alexandre's recovery was coincided with the change of winter into spring, and within a few weeks, the doctor started allowing him to go outside for short times, much to his delight and his parents' terror. Being confined to his bed for so long, not only caused maddening boredom, but also made him incredibly week. At first a mere half hour walking around in the gardens would exhaust him for the rest of the day. Once the worst of the illness had past, his parents were adamant that he not be left further behind than necessary, so they pushed for a return to normal life as soon as he seemed ready. They hired an overqualified private tutor to supplement normal lessons from the governess. Monsieur Enjolras was determined that he would finally enroll in school the coming fall. Fortunately, the boy was precocious and with nothing better to do for long stretches of the day than practice, he was quickly a very competent reader.

When Alexandre couldn't leave his bed, Hugo would visit him whenever he was allowed. Things changed between the two when Hugo visited Alexandre on his possible deathbed weeks ago. Alexandre hardly remembered it but he felt guilty when he realized that Hugo was the closest thing to a friend he had in his own lonely life. Hugo had finally managed to get his attention and with that came loyalty. Alexandre finally paid enough attention to realize how inequitable the treatment from the governess was and now took to undermining her authority and fighting Hugo's corner ever chance he got. Suddenly, she stopped seeing him as the same angelic little prince she once did, but she never retaliated as seriously against him as she did the long-suffering Hugo.

One day in early May, Alexandre was feeling almost normal and the boys were restless indoors. Alexandre had spent the morning with his tutor, then after lunch, he persuaded Hugo to sneak off on their own during a walk in the garden. Hugo was reluctant, but Alexandre could be highly persuasive. The garden was in bloom, but even the renowned skillful work of the Enjorlas's well paid gardener was of very little interest to young boys. The well manicured path through shrubs and fountains struck them as oppressively boring, but the world beyond was back to life from winter, and Alexandre, back to life himself, was eager to explore it.

"We'll go down by the pond and climb the tree," Alexandre whispered. "It'll be fun." Hugo had no idea which of the many trees near ponds by the house he was referring to, but Alexandre made it sound terribly exciting.

"But Mademoiselle Flincher," Hugo protested worriedly. Alexandre just grinned mischievously.

"She'll go crazy looking for us," he promised. Hugo didn't think this prospect was so delightful, because no matter what, he not Alexandre, would find himself on the receiving end of punishments when the adventure was over.

"I know," Hugo grumbled.

"Then, come on!" Alexandre insisted. "Wait for my signal."

"Terrible things come to children who whisper and plot and scheme," said a stern voice behind them. Both boys turned to face the governess with a disgruntled look on her face. She wasn't a tall woman, but they were small enough that she towered over them ominously. Hugo started shaking. Alexandre put a hand on his shoulder assertively.

"Terrible things?" he asked. "What sorts of terrible things? You mean like being sick all the time? Psssh, I've done that, its not so bad."

"You watch it there," the old woman warned. "You're a young gentleman, and you'd best not pick up on the manners of a maid's brat." Hugo was embarrassed, but Alexandre only laughed.

"Sorry, Mademoiselle," Hugo mumbled. Eventually they resumed the walk quietly. After a few minutes, Alexandre grabbed Hugo's sleeve and bolted off the path. He couldn't object, so he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Even though Alexandre was still weaker than before he got sick and Hugo was tall for his age, the age difference was enough to give Alexandre the slightest edge in strength and the greatest edge in confidence. Hugo was deeply afraid of what terrible wrath was later in store for him, but found the mad dash thrilling too. The governess gave chase, but they were quickly yards and yards ahead. Hugo had to will himself not to turn back as her screams of indignation got angrier the further behind they faded.

Alexandre led Hugo through the trees down the tall hill on which the house sat. He dragged him around corners and along bizarre short-cuts through the trees that he struggled to remember from the previous summer. When they reached his destination, they were at the very edge of the what Alexandre considered "his house". It was partly true; the adjacent parcel of land began the bulk of the estate where tenants lived and farmed. But the idea that his family owned the whole sprawling little world made no sense to Alexandre. At the bottom of the hill was a big pond that glittered in the filtered sunlight. There was a turning mill at the far end of it. Clouds had begun to roll in, but rain didn't seem imminent. Hugo stumbled and fell onto the grass laughing as soon as Alexandre let go of him.

"That's the one we're gonna climb!" Alexandre boldly declared, pointing to the single tallest tree on their edge of the pond.

"You're crazy!" Hugo exclaimed, as he struggled to take in just how high it was.

"Chicken," Alexandre teased. Hugo gave him a dirty look. "But I guess I understand if you're scared."

"What?" Hugo looked up at him indignantly.

"I mean, you're just such a little kid and all," replied the older boy. He gave a smug smile then started dashing towards the tree. He'd succeeded in his goal, because not a second later, Hugo was scrambling to his feet.

"I'll beat you to the top, sicky!" Hugo threatened as he chased Alexandre all the way to the tree's base. They both stopped to catch their breath as they sized up the assent. There was only one reasonable candidate for a first foothold, and it was almost as high as Hugo's shoulders.

"You climb on me," Alexandre offered. The fact that despite his age, Hugo really wasn't much smaller than him crushed him, so he adamantly denied and downplayed it every change he got. "If you climb over me, then go up, you can reach it, and then I'll be able to reach it myself once you're up higher." He squatted down right against the tree, and Hugo complied as best he could with the instructions, feebly balancing on Alexandre's shoulders as he pushed him up toward the low set branch. Hugo wobbled and wavered before bravely shoving his leg out toward the branch and stepping off Alexandre. Once he was situated in the tree, he grabbed at a higher branch and pulled himself up. His height and lankiness made him well suited to climbing, and soon he was almost a quarter of the way up the tree. He only stopped when he realized Alexandre wasn't immediately behind him.

"Now who's chicken?" Hugo gleefully taunted.

Alexandre was not so amused. He struggled fiercely to pull himself up onto even the lowest branch. Hugo's success mortified him, and now, to complete his shame, he felt himself getting rapidly tired out by his feeble efforts.

"I'm stuck," he eventually admitted in frustration. Hugo was just about to lay into him with a string of taunts, but he looked down from his high place and saw how upset Alexandre appeared to be as he continued to struggle more and more feebly.

"Wait," said Hugo. "I'll come down there and help pull you up!" He started to scramble down the tree, but quickly found this to be a tougher test of his agility than the assent. When he got to the last branch before he thought he could conceivably reach Alexandre, he got anxious. It was a long way to the next branch, and he remembered this as having been a difficult maneuver on the way up.

Alexandre watched breathlessly; then he saw Hugo slip before he himself even felt it.

"Hugo!"

Hugo fell the six or seven feet from the tree and broke his fall with his hands in the muddy wet edge of the pond. He landed with a thud that hurt his back and chased the air from his lungs. He tried to remain calm for what seemed like a long time, but in reality was likely only seconds, before he let out a shrill blood curdling scream. Alexandre was by his side immediately and rolled him face up, which made him panic more as he struggled for breath. It took him three airless screams before he finally managed to take a breath, then he burst into tears.

"Don't cry, please don't cry," Alexandre pleaded anxiously. "Come on, we've got to get you out of the mud." Hugo was covered in the stuff from head-to-toe. He kept crying, but allowed Alexandre to pull him to his feet by his left hand. When they were standing, he noticed the pain in his right arm. He held it up, quivering with sobs, and Alexandre saw that it was swollen to at least twice its normal size.

"Oh, man, I bet that's broken," he said, impressed. "Maybe they'll have to cut it off and give you a pirate's hook!" This made Hugo cry harder. "No, it's ok, its ok!" He was desperate to calm Hugo down. "Give me your coat," he instructed. Hugo shook his head. "Just do it. trust me." He winced as he slid the sleeve over his tender arm, then handed it to the other boy.

Alexandre took the filthy jacket and fashioned a sling out of it, tying the sleeves together behind Hugo's neck and resting the arm in the body. Hugo was finally starting to stop crying when Alexandre put an arm around him comfortingly.

"Come on now," he said gently. "We'll just walk back up the hill and go home. It'll be fine." This horrified Hugo. Fortunately, Alexandre recognized why. "Don't worry about her. We won't even find her, we'll go straight to my mother, then she'll find your mother."

"Promise?"

"Promise."


	4. Chapter 4

As quickly as they had dashed down to the pond was how slowly they retraced their steps back toward the house. Alexandre struggled again to remember which route through the trees he'd taken, but Hugo trusted him completely. They didn't know how long they'd been walking when they started to feel raindrops. With his arm protectively around him, Alexandre could feel Hugo shivering, then realized he didn't have a coat.

"Wait, stop," he said, and Hugo complied immediately. He took off his own coat then through it over the younger boy's shoulders. "Before it gets too wet to do any good."

"But what about you?" Hugo asked. The way that adults all talked about Alexandre made him seem terribly fragile, and the idea that he would walk in the rain without a coat seemed like a terrible one.

"You need it more," Alexandre ensured him. He put his arm back around Hugo and led him onward. Soon, the occasional drops had turned to a steady spring downpour. Alexandre did his best to conceal his own shaking. By now the coat was wet enough to be useless to either of them, but he insisted that Hugo keep it on.

When they came in sight of the house, they knew they were in trouble. Servants were off in all different directions shouting Alexandre's name. His plan to sneak straight to the house and find his mother depended on them not being found by any of the many people looking for them first.

"Alex!" They both looked up and were surprised to see Monsieur Enjolras, his fine suit wet from the rain, running towards them. At first, Alexandre considered this to be the second-best possible outcome, but then they saw who came running behind him.

"Hugo's hurt his arm, Father," Alexandre explained as quickly as he could spit out when his father and Mademoiselle Flincher reached them. She was red with disgust.

"Monsieur," she began. "You should take him inside at once. He'll catch his death out here with no coat. I'll deal with this little urchin."

"No!" Alexandre insisted. "No, it's my fault."

"Come," said Monsieur Enjolras. "They both need to be inside. We'll deal with this there." He grabbed Alexandre by the hand and dashed indoors. The governess hated the idea of bringing the filthy and now crying Hugo in the same way as the gentleman and his son went, but she wasn't about to defy a direct order from him, so she roughly grabbed Hugo's uninjured hand, then snatched Alexandre's coat off his shoulders.

In the front hall of the house, a maid was waiting with a dry blanket to immediately wrap around Alexandre. His mother dashed right over and embraced him. When Marie realized he didn't have a coat and felt how wet and cold he was, she instructed the maid to send for the doctor. Behind her came Adele with whom she'd been anxiously waiting for the two hours the boys were missing. When Hugo came through the door, Adele similarly dashed to him and threw a blanket around him.

"Oh, my dear, what happened to you?" she asked, noticing the coat-sling.

"He fell out of the tree," Alexandre chimed in.

"Madame," said Mademoiselle Flincher pointing at Hugo. "This one's the trouble-maker. They ran off during our walk, and now young Alexandre comes home with no coat, saying they've been climbing and falling out of trees. I'm sorry, but I must insist, for the boy's own good, please Madame, put a stop to this nonsense. Children should be with their own kind."

"Shut up!" Alexandre snapped, much to the astonishment of all the adults.

"Excuse me," said Mademoiselle Flincher.

"It wasn't Hugo's fault," he insisted. "It was my idea, the whole lot of it. Now you need to help him. I gave him my coat. It's my fault. Even if I get sick. It's my fault and I'm sorry, but you leave Hugo alone you stupid, mean, old cow!"

At this, Monsieur Enjolras grabbed his son by the arm and slapped him so hard across the face that the noise it made was enough to start Hugo crying again. "I will never hear you speak that way again, do you understand?" Alexandre stood as still as a marble statue. He didn't make a sound even as his cheek started to turn red.

"Monsieur, he was never like this before!" snapped the governess. "Always as well-behaved as a lamb." She glared furiously at Hugo, who was trying to hide behind his mother. "You'll tell them what really happened right now, you brat!"

"Enough!" Adele snapped. "Please leave my son alone, can't you see he's had enough today? I'll talk to him later and get to the bottom of what happened; he won't lie to me."

"I don't take my orders from you," was the reply. "I'm charged with raising their boy into a young gentleman, which has proved impossible since your brat came into the picture."

"You do take your orders from me, though," interjected Monsieur Enjolras. "And I think you've taken the last," he added under his breath.

He then turned to Adele. "My dear, might I impose on you to take both children and clean them up? You can find some dry clothes for Hugo among Alexandre's things; he has more than enough and I'm sure there's some old ones that were ready for the church box that should fit well enough. When the doctor arrives, he'll look at his arm. I know I've no right to ask a housemaid to look after my son, but I'd like him out of my sight before I get over how relieved I am that he's alright, and do something regrettable for the trouble he's caused me today." He glared threateningly down at Alexandre for a second before releasing his tight grip on his hand. The boy scurried over to Hugo and Adele.

"Thank you, Monsieur," she said and was quickly on her way with both boys in tow. She made quick work of bathing and drying them, then took them to the day nursery to wait for the village doctor. She wrapped them both in new clean blankets and insisted that Alexandre keep his on, despite his protests. Hugo's wrist continued to throb and the swelling remained obvious. He would cry on and off from a combination of pain and exhaustion, but Adele found that he kept calm the easiest when she cradled him in her lap.

Alexandre sat quietly, filled with guilt for the whole ordeal. "You know, it really was my fault," he said after a long time, when Hugo appeared to have drifted into a light sleep.

"What, dear?"

"I talked him into running off," he replied. "He didn't want to. He knew we'd get in trouble. I picked out the tree and everything."

"Thank you for your honesty," she started. "Most boys your age wouldn't be so truthful."

"No one thinks I can do anything," Alexandre continued. "I know it doesn't make it ok, but I thought I could climb that stupid tree. I couldn't even get up the first branch."

"You can do lots of things," Adele offered. "I hear you're becoming quite an excellent reader. You might not know it now, but that might come in more handy someday than tree-climbing."

"Hugo was really good at climbing."

"Oh, really?" said Adele with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. "Do him and me each a favor, and don't ever tell him that. I don't think either of us could handle another day like today."

"He didn't take my coat, either," Alexandre mumbled. "I was only trying to help. I used his for his arm then he didn't have one. So I made him put it on. Mademoiselle Flincher shouldn't be mad at him for it; it wasn't his idea."

"That was very thoughtful and kind of you," Adele started. "But I hope you understand why your parents might be upset about it."

"No," Alexandre insisted. "I'm fine, I'm not sick anymore. No one believes me. Hugo needed the coat, I didn't."

"You'll understand better when you're older," she started. "But its not easy for parents to get over being scared for their children. And you, my dear, have given your parents a lot of reasons to be scared in your short life."

"I'm just sorry for what I did to Hugo," the boy backtracked.

"I'm quite certain you are already forgiven," said Adele with a warm smile.

Shortly after, Monsieur and Madame Enjolras accompanied the doctor into the nursery. Adele gently woke Hugo up. Much to his chagrin, Alexandre was thoroughly examined, given a foul tasting medicinal concoction and sentenced to no fewer than two days of bed-rest, all before the doctor even looked in Hugo's direction. When he did, he made quick work of it. His diagnosis of a broken wrist was a surprise to no one. He then wrapped the boy's arm and gave him a proper sling along with two pills for pain. Madame Enjolras insisted on paying the fees for both children before Adele had a chance to object.

With Alexandre put into bed, Madame and Monsieur Enjolras insisted that Adele have tea with them in the drawing room before leaving. She reluctantly accepted and carried Hugo the whole way through the house.

"I should take him home soon," Adele whispered, as Hugo had fallen back asleep in her lap again as she sipped her tea. She awkwardly negotiated the fine china around the sleeping child as she brought her cup to her mouth to sip, in terror that she might drop and break it.

"You can stay here tonight if that would help," Marie offered. "Since you live in the village, there's an extra maid's room downstairs that's technically speaking yours. They could have it ready quickly, with a cot for Hugo."

"That's kind, but no thank you; you've done enough," said Adele. "In fact, I have something I'd like to discuss if it's ok."

"Of course," said Monsieur Enjolras.

"I am truly, truly grateful for what you've done for Hugo and me," she began. "But I see now that it's put you and your family and especially the other staff into a terribly uncomfortable position. I think it would be best for everyone if I moved on and took Hugo with me. I will give my notice tomorrow morning and stay until a replacement can be found. In the meantime, I can send Hugo to stay with my sister and her husband in the city, so it won't be so awkward for your governess anymore."

"We've sacked our governess," said Monsieur Enjolras.

"What?"

"We didn't think it suitable that a woman who loses two small children for two hours, then tries to blame it on a four year-old, should be responsible for taking care of the lawn, let alone our son," said Marie icily.

"Oh, my goodness," Adele started.

"I wouldn't worry," said Monsieur Enjolras. "For what we were paying her, someone quite competent will take over soon enough."

"Are you determined to leave, then?" Marie asked. "We'll respect your decision of course, but please don't make it hastily. It's been a trying day for everyone."

"I think it would be best," replied Adele. "Hugo will miss Alexandre, but this isn't his life. Soon both of them will be off at school and living their own very different lives."

"Adele," Monsieur Enjolras began, "Do you know why I agreed to have Hugo here? I hope you'll forgive me for speaking bluntly. Our dear foreigner of a former governess would take this opportunity to call me 'eccentric' again, but I have things that wouldn't do to be left unsaid. I think you know I was originally quite opposed when Madame Enjolras proposed it and for a while after he was here, but do you know why I came around?"

"You're a charitable gentleman, Monsieur," she replied sheepishly.

"It's true that I feel obliged to help the family of a man from the village who died in the service in service of my country," he began. "I was a military man myself before I married and I love this nation like a second spouse, so I confess that your late husband's sacrifice moved me to help. But there are plenty of other ways to do that than have his son and mine spend day after day together. Plenty of ways that would keep social order more in tact. At first, I tried very hard to persuade my gentle-hearted wife of this. That it would be better to just give you some money and have that be that. So that Alexandre's upbringing would be traditional. But, you see, my father and his father didn't get this family through the revolution with their heads by clinging to the old ways as law. Alexandre is my son and heir, and I would do him a great disservice to raise him into a creature that can't adapt to a changing world. Someday, if he's to reign over this estate as master, of what use will a childhood of seclusion spent only around children exactly like himself be?"

"I'm sure you only have the best intentions, Monsieur," Adele started.

"My older brother René was to inherit this estate," he interrupted. "He believed in doing things so properly. So he waited around to find a proper wife and while he was waiting he died with no sons. My marriage didn't please my parents. They said I was too young and she was too common. Perhaps this was before you lived here, but I assure you, that there was a great scandal when young Julien Enjolras, second in line to his father's very old fortune married a daughter of new money. A scandal that only made things worse after my brother died. My father was prepared to change his will to bypass me, before that same flu carried him off. Alexandre owes his very existence in more ways than one to breaking from the occasional tradition. The Enjolras name is secure because my son's forebears knew how to play the modern game. And my wife was right to show me that he has to learn to play it too."

"Monsieur," Adele started. "Forgive me, but may I say something blunt as well?"

"Well, I suppose that's only fair."

"I had no idea you were such a progressive," Adele said carefully. Monsieur Enjolras laughed loudly.

"Progressive?" he laughed. "No, no. Certainly not. Maybe once. But that's left behind in another age, when I was a much younger man. No, my dear. I'm no progressive. My wife is the progressive. I'm merely a pragmatist."

"That's certainly true," said Marie with a smile, taking his hand.

"Adele," Monsieur Enjolras started. "Alexandre will have an easy life. There is not much he needs to do. If he finds a wife to give him sons and at least one of them outlives him, he'll have done his duty. But he can do none of this if he's an entitled little prince hated by the whole village. I'm glad my country has a king once more, but I've seen enough not to count on this being the end of the tale. The next time the people find themselves on the hunt for heads, I'd rather they be content to leave my son's where it is."

"Don't even speak of such things!" Marie snapped, pulling her hand our from his.

"See, I'm even too eccentric for my progressive wife," he said mockingly. "So I'm sorry if you feel I've used you and your boy. But I hope you see that maybe they both have things to gain from their friendship. Of course, you may leave if and when you wish. And you're right that once they're in school, social order will sort itself out however it will no matter what I say or do about it. But for now, while they're still small, I see no reason this has to be brought to an abrupt end."

"I'll keep that in mind, Monsieur," Adele replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**New chapter, quicker than expected. Enjoy. **

Adele stayed on as a housemaid for the remainder of that summer, but by September, she'd found, with the help of a sparkling reference from Madame Enjolras herself, a new job in a wine shop in the village. The shopkeeper had an infant girl, during whose birth his wife had died, twins Hugo's age, a boy of ten, and Sophie, a girl of fourteen who watched all the children. Adele secretly paid her a small cut of her own wages, though her father had insisted she watch Hugo for free. Hugo missed Alexandre terribly at first, but by now, his friend had been sent off to an elite boarding school near Lyon. Being in the grand house without him was incredibly lonely, so Hugo was glad for the chance to be around other children. Hugo's time with Alexandre was a novelty to the others. He regaled them with stories of the massive mansion, the nasty governess and his and Alexandre's adventures from that summer. The best story was that of his harrowing ordeal with the tree.

As time went on, this became Hugo's normal. He grew to be very close friends with the male twin, Jean, and they were both astute proteges of the older boy, Nicolas. Together, they all plotted creative ways to terrorize the girls. Sophie was often overwhelmed, but she never treated any of the kids harshly. Hugo still sometimes missed Alexandre, but he hoped that he had his own new friends too.

When Hugo was six, he started attending the local Catholic school with Jean. Neither of them ever did anything to warrant much good or bad attention from the nuns. They were decent, but unexceptional students who never misbehaved on any serious level beyond the very seldom truancy scheme when the weather would start to turn in spring. They stayed each other's constant allies all through their schooling years.

Occasionally, Hugo would see Alexandre in the village, usually during school holidays. When they did meet, it was always as old friends. It wasn't long before Alexandre had a reputation as a wild child. Whenever Hugo saw him, he often sported a new set of bruises and scars on his hands from run-ins with teachers and occasionally even the school's headmaster. He always had a good story to go with it, usually involving him challenging what he considered an unjust rule, and he always seemed proud of his mangled hands, as if they were war wounds from a noble crusade.

His expulsion from the school at age thirteen was a big scandal in the village. At least a hundred different versions of the story circulated like the flu. The true cause was a hand-written underground newsletter critical of the school's administration that he organized and distributed. He recruited other boys and made them all swear to keep silent about their involvement, writing under aliases with occasionally incorrect historical allusions. They all wrote about travesties such as the school uniforms and curfew enthusiastically for the two weeks of the paper's existence, thoroughly thrilled by the prospect of how much trouble they'd be in if caught. Alexandre took it much more seriously, and with his self-appointed role as Editor in Chief, he made sure that his own views were more than well represented. There was no official schedule; the boys just met a few times during those two weeks to write and hand-copy until they tired of it, then passed out the copies discretely the next day. It was only on its third issue when the headmaster got his hands on a copy. The boys were not nearly as clandestine as they fancied themselves, and he had a very accurate list of suspects by that very afternoon. He never doubted that Alexandre was behind the project, so he offered each of the other boys complete amnesty in exchange for confirmation of the identity of the ring leader and promised severe wrath for silence. At this, they couldn't turn Alexandre in fast enough. Any other boy may have been shown mercy, but it was far from Alexandre's first offense and he was expelled immediately.

By this time, Hugo hadn't seen him in a long time, but he smiled when he heard the story to think of quintessential Alexandre having the nerve to try something like that. The first time Hugo did see him after his disgraced return to the village was walking home from mass with his mother one Sunday. They were almost back to their cottage when they saw Alexandre walking with the family dog off in the distance. Hugo waved at him, and he waved back with a smile, but he stayed his own course rather than make his way across the field to talk to them. Hugo and Adele suspected this had to do with his newest badge of honor–a fresh black eye formed painfully on the left side of his face.

"You think the headmaster did that to him?" Hugo asked his mother quietly once Alexandre was out of earshot.

She shook her head. "I saw him when he first got back," she explained. "Didn't have it then."

"Oh," said Hugo quietly.

"Don't talk about it, and definitely don't tell anyone I told you that," Adele insisted. "It's none of our business, really."

"I guess you're right," he replied.

"I will say just one thing, my darling son," she started. "If you ever get yourself thrown out of school, no matter the reason, I'll have your dear departed father woken from his grave just to clout you like that. Twice. One for each eye so you're not lopsided." She tugged on a lock of his hair teasingly.

Hugo smiled and promised his mother she'd never have to worry about that, then he silently thought about Alexandre. He was realizing how little he actually did know him or his family anymore. He never remembered Monsieur Enjolras to be a cruel or overly harsh person. In fact, his clearest memory of him was the way he so tenderly sat at Alexandre's bedside during his illness. The only time he'd ever seen him raise a hand to Alexandre was the day he told off the governess, and Hugo knew that his own mother would have done the same to him if he'd said something like that. He couldn't picture him hitting him hard enough to blacken his eye like that. Maybe Alexandre's talent for trouble had been taking an unseen toll on the happy family behind the walls of their mansion. Hugo was surprised at how bothered by this he was, so he did what he always did when something inexplicably bothered him; he talked it over with Jean.

"So I saw Alexandre Enjolras today," he said as they walked through town. On Sunday afternoons, there wasn't often much to do, so the pair would usually wander around aimlessly before getting into some form of very mild mischief, often involving a harmless prank on Jean's sisters.

"Is it true what Nicolas said?" Jean asked. "That his old man cracked him in the eye?"

"Yeah," Hugo replied.

"Good," said Jean.

"What do you mean good?" Hugo stopped in his tracks. Jean turned to face him incredulously.

"Oh, come on, Hugo," he started. "You know he had it coming."

"How so?"

"Well think about it," Jean started. "My old man would kill me if I got kicked out of school, and he'd probably kill you as a personal favor to your mother if you did. Think about all Alexandre Enjolras has got and we haven't, but does he care? No way. Our parents break their backs to send us to school here in town. He gets sent off to God-knows-where with princes and aristocrat's sons like all the rest of his family who never had to work a day in their lives. Then he gets kicked out. If my father worked and saved until he was a hundred, he could maybe afford to send me to that school for one year."

"I don't think Alexandre's like that," Hugo said, although he wasn't really sure why. He didn't really know what Alexandre was like.

"Based on what?" Jean challenged. "The like year you knew each other when you were four? Sorry, I know he was your friend, but is he really still?"

"I guess not," Hugo mused.

"I say it serves him right," Jean declared.

Soon enough, Monsieur Enjolras had negotiated Alexandre into another elite boarding school. The trouble-making teenager had his family name and his brain going for him. Despite his behavior, it was clear that he was extremely intelligent. At fourteen he was reading university text books and embarrassing teachers by correcting them. His academic passions were history, politics and philosophy. However, it wasn't long before he started to wear out his welcome at his new school. Hugo heard about the great ultimatum through the village rumor mill.

Alexandre had organized a walk-out in protest of the school's admission practices when the barely literate grandson of an English duke was accepted, and a female mathematics prodigy from Geneva was rejected after the school's board of directors publicly considered relaxing the all male policy for her. When Alexandre was facing his second expulsion for this stunt, Monsieur Enjolras struck a deal with the headmaster, whereby Alexandre would have to write and deliver a public apology. and never step a toe out of line again. Monsieur Enjolras was actually quite pleased with the deal, because he saw it as an opportunity for his son to learn some shame. At first, Alexandre had no intention of complying. This was when his father gave the ultimatum: if he was kicked out of school again, he would be disinherited and never welcome at home again. Alexandre, who was never fazed by anything in his life, took this threat seriously enough to deliver the humiliating apology and walk the thin ice of good behavior afterward. The villagers all got the story second and third hand, complete with embellishments. A wildly popular version of the story cast the Swiss girl as Alexandre's secret sweetheart; Hugo was always skeptical of this detail for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. They saw Alexandre's compliance as a sort of comeuppance, a spoiled child realizing he had to tow the line before claiming the rewards of his father's fortune. Even Hugo, who always tried to think charitably of Alexandre, tended to think this account was likely close to the truth.

But as was often the case, the truth was more complicated. No one knew that Alexandre saw this as the opening of a deep chasm between him and his father. He loved his parents and he knew they loved him, but he was becoming more and more aware that he wasn't interested in living the life they wanted for him. Every privilege he had filled him with guilt. There were times when he profoundly hated himself for attending fancy schools when he knew that children in his own country were starving to death. He led the protest of the Swiss girl's rejection because he felt a terrible injustice had been done, and to do nothing would be profoundly immoral. His father often spoke of his duty to the estate, but he was beginning to understand duty differently. But still, at fifteen, he wasn't quite brave enough to cut the ties to everything and everyone he knew to go where he truly felt called.

The first time Hugo saw him after this episode was at Christmastime about a year later. They passed each other wordlessly going into and out of the post office in the village. Hugo barely knew him when he saw him. His face, still as flawless and lovely as it had always been, had become unrecognizably serious. Behind his beautiful blue eyes that drove all the village girls–including Jean's twin sister Suzette–crazy was a new look of brooding and unfamiliar inner turmoil. He trudged heavily out the door into the snow, his gloved hands in his pockets and messy yellow curls stuffed beneath a cap, with an intensity Hugo had never seen in any person.

But this time, Hugo cared very little about the encounter and went about the rest of his day without even thinking about it again. He had his own life and friends and future to trouble himself with. That was the last time he consciously noticed seeing Alexandre before he left the village four years later to join the National Guard.

And now, here in the hellish ruins of a Parisian cafe, all these memories flooded back to Hugo and he felt a new and profound pain in his soul. Alexandre Enjolras looked practically angelic as he calmly faced the guns. Now Hugo understood him in a way he never could before, and he was suddenly desperate to save him. He knew he had to think quickly of a way to stay the crude execution until he came up with a more long term plan, because the other men were unlikely to share this feeling. They saw a traitor who had thrown their city into chaos and killed their brothers in arms; they wanted his blood like a dog wants a bone.

Hugo's commanding officer gave the first order in a grim, emotionless tone.

"Take aim."


	6. Chapter 6

**Quick reiteration of the boiler-plate disclaimer: I don't own the Les Mis characters, etc. Anything familiar is not mine. In this chapter, pretty much all the dialogue is taken straight from the book. I downloaded the iBooks version and gave the chapter where Enjolras dies a quick read just to get a good take on it, and I didn't see any need to tinker with already perfectly written lines, so in leu of proper citations for each borrowed line, here's a catch all: if its familiar, its not mine! Enjoy! **

"Wait!" Hugo cried.

The startled men lowered their guns and looked at him. His commanding officer looked furious. But Hugo had eyes only for Enjolras. He had to convince them right now not to proceed as planned if he had any hope of saving his old friend's life. In his mind, he went through the best argument he thought he had, that they should take him alive to stand trial. They would show the people of Paris that the National Guard was the side of law and order and they didn't butcher unarmed schoolboys. Hugo was preparing to make a passionate speech calling for his comrades to take the moral high road, when he made locking eye-contact with Enjolras.

In this moment, he wavered. He couldn't tell if Alexandre recognized him, but he saw something small and strange creeping into his eyes: the slightest twinge of fear. His countenance was so harsh and resolute that none of the others saw this, and Hugo was positive that it hadn't been there before he'd called "wait". Was the prospect of being taken alive really so much worse and more dreadful to him than being killed here and now?

Then Hugo looked past the actual act of taking him alive to what would follow. Enjolras would first be jailed, and most likely guarded in the interim by soldiers with personal scores to settle with him from the battle. Hugo couldn't know for sure what they would or wouldn't do to him. But he didn't think this was what inspired the fear. Alexandre Enjolras had cavalierly accepted all manner of beatings and degrading punishments all through his childhood when he thought he was in the right and now he was fully prepared to die for his cause; surely the prospect ill treatment in prison wouldn't be enough to shake his resolve. So Hugo looked elsewhere for the source.

There might or might not be a trial. If there was, and even if it was a fair one, its verdict was already known. He would be convicted of treason. Then he would be publicly executed, either beheaded or hanged. But Hugo didn't see what was so worse about this outcome. He stared intently at Alexandre's eyes, trying to understand what he was saying. All of these thoughts raced through his mind extremely quickly, but he was running out of time. He would have to explain soon why he hesitated, and with nothing good to say, his squad would proceed with the killing. He was in a race for the rebel leader's life, but was baffled as to why Alexandre seemed to want him to lose. He had to understand why. He owed him that.

Then, looking into the quietly pleading eyes of a dead man, he knew.

News of his capture and trial would reach Monsieur and Madame Enjolras quickly. They would be on their way to Paris that same hour to be at his side. They would hire him the best lawyer, but it would be in vain, because not even the best lawyer would succeed in winning mercy for him, because he was undeniably guilty of the most severe crimes the law recognized. Then, his parents would be there when the inevitable sentence was carried out. Hugo saw the ghastly scene play out in his mind; kind, gentle-hearted Madame Enjolras fighting her way through a crowd to be as close to her beloved child as possible while he was led to the gallows or the guillotine in the square. Her husband catching her when she fainted at the sight of either the blade or the floor dropping, himself in agony over his turbulent relationship with his dying son and final failure to keep him out of trouble. Two broken people going home with that horrible picture burned into their brains until they died. And the last thing in the world he would see was people who loved him in the deepest of suffering. No, Hugo couldn't let this happen. If Alexandre was to die, it was best if it happened out of sight, and they learned about it later.

Enjolras had to know that the collateral damage from his plan would be enormous. People would die and people would suffer. But he was determined that no suffering would be gratuitous. He would not buy himself a few more days or even weeks of life at that price of more suffering for others, especially not his parents who would suffer enough because of his death in the battle. He probably wouldn't have bought himself a full lifetime if doing so would somehow cause anyone pain like that. He grieved for the defeat at the barricade, but he was at peace that he'd done his part for his country and his people's freedom. Now it was time for his chapter in history to end, and he was determined to do it with as much dignity and grace as he could muster and would be afforded to him.

When Hugo realized this, he grieved for the job he had to do. He knew it was the only way forward, but he also realized that he would never be the same again after his involvement. Alexandre's brave and soulful eyes, staring at him in their last moments of light, would haunt him to the end of his days. It was then that Hugo found his words. They were cowardly, but saying them would assure Alexandre that he understood and planned to move forward.

"Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?" They would have had no reason to carry a regular blindfold, but they had enough medical supplies to spare a short length of bandage to cover his eyes. It was customary to extend this compassion to condemned prisoners in normal circumstances, to spare them from the terror of seeing. Hugo desperately hoped that Enjolras would accept the offer, if only so that he, the executioner, could be spared having to look as the life and unearthly beauty left those blue orbs.

"No," was the quick reply. Hugo was disappointed but not surprised. Enjolras was far too brave for that. The tiny trace of fear was gone; he was ready. He held the flag high and pushed his unscathed chest forward, forming a clean target.

Hugo shakily raised his gun and employed a herculean effort to suppress the tears that started to well in his eyes. The order to take aim was repeated, and Hugo soundlessly mouthed, "please forgive me".

There was another unexpected interruption.

"Long live the Republic!" called a groggy voice behind them. Hugo was so startled that he nearly fired at the sound. He turned his head to see a man appear out of a corner. He strangely didn't appear to be wounded, but his movements were unsteady. "I'm one of them!" He was the antithesis of Enjolras; he looked disheveled and scraggly, but with each stride he took toward the window, he seemed to grow stronger and more dignified. Hugo wondered where he'd been through the whole exchange, and what his intent now was. Did he mean to fight? Hugo and the other Guardsmen tracked him with their guns and watched him closely, but he never drew a weapon.

"Long live the Republic," he cried again and stepped beside Enjolras. "Finish both of us at one blow." Standing next to Enjolras, this second man who had offered himself up so willingly began to look almost as formidable as his leader. Hugo was beginning to take seriously the possibility that he was witnessing something other worldly. He tried to dismiss this, but he couldn't help but be in awe of the courage and grace that Enjolras both displayed himself and inspired in his similarly doomed comrade.

"Do you permit it?" the man asked. The scene that unfolded between the two of them was comforting to Hugo. Enjolras smiled warmly and extended his hand. When the other man took it, he squeezed it before releasing it. The two men were there to save each other from having to die alone.

"Take aim," the commander repeated. Hugo drew a deep breath and silently prayed for strength as he steadied his gun. He briefly considered aiming at the other man, thinking it would be less traumatic for him to kill a stranger than Alexandre. But he couldn't bring himself to adjust his aim for one reason. The fewer bullets his old friend was hit with, the less likely it was that death would be instantaneous. The last favor he could do for him was to help ensure him a quick death. Hugo was a talented marksman; he would make sure that there would be no lingering for Alexandre Enjolras, no choking on his own blood, no possibility of having to look down at his own mangled organs, no terrifying filling of his lungs and hopefully, no pain.

Hugo aimed intently at Alexandre's noble heart and counted silently to quiet his mind, waiting for the order. That lingering peaceful smile was the last image that Hugo would form of Alexandre Enjolras alive. He thought back to the day over fifteen years ago that he visited the dying boy's bedside. That boy in the bed looked so frail and small, but here in his place was a proud and gallant man at peace. His demeanor in just these tiny moments could fill the definitive book on what it means to die well. "Goodbye, Alexandre," Hugo whispered so softly that no one around him heard.

When the order was given, Hugo squeezed his trigger and delivered a clean hit straight into the heart. Seven other bullets found his chest with an impact that threw him backwards to lie out over the window pane, hanging upside down like a prized bird in a butcher's shop window. Dead before he stopped falling.

His companion fell into a heap on the floor right where he stood, hit with far fewer bullets, but no less dead.

At long last, the battle was over.


	7. Chapter 7

A few hours later, when Hugo was finally relieved of his twenty-seven consecutive hours on duty, he found himself slumped in a heap on the floor leaning against the door right inside his tiny flat. He hurriedly took off the outer jacket of his uniform, desperate to be free of its oppressive hot weight, but couldn't be bothered to make any other adjustments as he buried his face in his hands, clenching his eyes tightly closed. It was all he could do to suppress the images from his mind. Images of blood and dirt and smoke and death. But none more concrete as the image of Alexandre Enjolras' brave eyes, defiantly confronting death. In the darkness behind his own lids, Hugo still saw them. They represented everything wrong and cruel about his ordeal at the barricade. Those eyes, along with the eyes of countless others that night, had closed for the last time without ever seeing the promised new world. Hugo hid his own in shame for his involvement.

He sat like this for nearly an hour before he forced himself into bed. He shed his uniform down to his underwear, finally feeling some serious degree of relief from the blazing heat. He normally treated the uniform with more care and respect than any of his possessions in the messy flat, but today he left them in a heap on the floor. The sun had completely risen, and his flat grew hot and humid quickly. But compared to the swelter inside the cafe, this was perfect. He lied on his aching back and stared up at the damaged ceiling, focusing intently on each tiny crack and water stain. It helped clear his mind, because as exhausted as he was, it was a long time before he was calm enough to sleep.

It was a deep and dreamless sleep that only lasted about two hours. When he woke up, he still felt exhausted, but with an irrepressible determination. He had an errand to fulfill and he wouldn't wait a few more hours of sleep to do it. He painfully pulled himself out of bed and dressed in some of his civilian clothes haphazardly lying around the room. Standing there, he suddenly noticed every ache and bruise his body had taken in the malay. He felt like an old man with each tiny step he took. But he wouldn't allow himself the luxury of complaining. He was alive and unwounded; he was among the luckiest ones.

Hugo's commanding officer had given his unit the remainder of the day off, with the stern advice that the younger and less seasoned men rest and allow themselves time to process what amounted to their first real blood bath. He would have to report for duty the following morning, but the next day was so far off Hugo's horizon that he didn't trouble himself with the thought of it. Dressed, he slowly but steadily limped down the flights of stairs to the street.

Stepping out from his building, the sun assaulted Hugo. The Paris street was disturbingly quiet. He lived several blocks away from the sight of the closest barricade. He had been told at some point during the night that there were others throughout Paris, but now by the morning they'd all fallen. The silence was a new kind of chaos. Hugo walked carefully as if he was trespassing. Fortunately, his destination was not far.

Jean's older sister Sophie lived with her husband, Philipe, and daughters in a little house a few blocks away from Hugo's flat. When Hugo first moved to Paris, they were the only people nearby that he knew, and he was glad for the connection to home, even though Sophie had moved away from the village when she married almost ten years ago. Philipe owned two horses and drove a cab around the city. It was a decently comfortable, but certainly unglamorous life for the family.

When Hugo knocked on the door, he was startled by hearing the voice of Philipe shout at the other occupants of the house to go upstairs. When the door cracked open, he was stunned to be greeted with a gun to his face.

"Government or insurgents, I don't care," his voiced barked from behind. "You'll leave this house at once. I have a family. I don't want to kill you but I'll do what I must to protect them!"

Hugo felt incredibly foolish for his oversight. Of course the ordinary people must have been in a state of terror since the rebellion began the day before. He cringed to think that his friends had been harassed or threatened at any point during the night. He backed away from the door quickly and unthreateningly.

"Peace!" he cried. "I come in peace, Philipe!"

"Hugo?" said the incredulous voice. The barrel of the gun lowered.

"Hugo!" cried a distinctly female and familiar voice. Before Hugo knew it, Sophie shoved past her husband out the door and threw her arms around him. "Oh thank God! Thank God, thank God!"

"Get inside, right now!" Philipe demanded. "Both of you." They complied quickly. Sophie, appearing to be about seven months pregnant, was slower moving back into the house, but Hugo offered his hand to steady her up the three steps. Once they were both inside, Philipe turned every lock on the door and placed his gun beside it. "Come and sit," he said as he motioned to the table. There were rolls on the table from breakfast, and Sophie was already getting a third cup for tea.

"I was so worried about you," she said as she sat down after pouring the tea. "Were you on duty the whole night?"

Hugo just nodded as he sipped the tea. The warm liquid was harsh and soothing at the same time. His stomach was completely empty.

"Why did you come here?" Philipe asked, handing him one of the rolls. "Eat this, you must be starving." Hugo took it without words. "I mean, I'm very glad you came; we were worried, but you should be sleeping."

"I have a favor I need to ask of you," said Hugo between mouthfuls.

"Anything," said Sophie.

"Are you working today?" he asked Philipe.

"Certainly not!" was the reply. "The streets are empty as well they should be! It's not safe, the horses are mad with terror from the night and most importantly, there is no way I will leave my girls today."

"Why do you ask?" added Sophie.

"I need to go to the village today," said Hugo. "Home. I hoped I could hire your cab for the day. I could drive it myself, I know how. You don't have to go with me. And I'll pay you. Whatever you'd make in a regular day."

"I'm sorry," Philipe began averting his eyes in subtle shame. "I don't have my cab. At least not today."

"Why not?"

"They took it," he began. "Police. This morning. They needed every cart they could get their hands on."

"For bodies," Hugo added, as more of a statement than a question. Phillipe nodded. "Did they pay you?"

Philipe laughed. Hugo could tell from the look on his face that this detail embarrassed him; perhaps that was why he held it back initially. "Of course not." Sophie put a hand on his arm. "What sort of man lets his livelihood just be stolen without a fight? With a fourth baby on the way, no less. Who even knows when I'll be able to get another one?"

"I'm so sorry," said Hugo.

"Why are you needing to go home?" Sophie asked. Suddenly Hugo was ashamed to be troubling them.

"I think I need to see my mother," he started. This was only partly true. "She'll hear about the barricades before she would get a letter knowing I'm ok. I should spare her having to wait if I can. I don't want her to think she has to race down here either."

"Of course," said Sophie. "That's thoughtful of you."

"I wish I could help you," said Philipe.

"I understand," said Hugo. In truth he was deeply bothered by this. His was a highly time sensitive errand.

"Wait," said Sophie. "They didn't take the saddle and bridle, right?"

"No," said Philipe. "They left the wretched beasts too. Probably because they're both so bloody old. Can you ride? I imagine its the last thing you want to do, but if you can, you're welcome to. Sophie's told me about your father. Don't make your mother wait to know you're alive if you can help it. If you ride, you'll actually get there much faster than with the cart."

Hugo's stomach turned at this idea. He had only very recently learned to ride at all, as a part of his training. He wasn't good at it. Horses mostly terrified him. Today, he was sore and exhausted. The ride to the village would be at least two or three hours if he made good time. He thought his bones might never forgive him.

"If you don't feel up to it, surely another day," said Sophie. "You're mother will just be happy to see you whenever."

"No," said Hugo more urgently than he intended. "I mean, thank you. Yes, I will go today if you permit it. I'm just not sure when I'll have another chance. I'm back on duty tomorrow."

Sophie and Philipe were silent for a moment, until she broke the silence.

"There's something else, isn't there?" she asked. Hugo was amazed at how well she could still read him. Almost as if nothing had changed since they were children and she would catch him and Jean up to no good on a springtime afternoon. He drew a deep breath and nodded.

"What is it?" Philipe asked.

"Alexandre Enjolras is dead," he replied. Sophie nodded silently and solemnly.

"Who?" asked Philipe.

"He was from our village," Sophie explained. "Hugo was close to him when they were very young."

"I'm sorry," replied Philipe. "In your unit?"

Hugo was surprised by the question, but realized it was probably the natural assumption. He didn't know how to explain, so he just shook his head. Fortunately Sophie intervened.

"Somehow I don't think the National Guard was a likely calling for Alexandre Enjolras," she said, strangely without judgement.

"No, certainly not," said Hugo.

"One of the insurgents then?" Philipe asked.

"Their leader," said Hugo, his voice coated in more sadness than he intended. Philipe nodded.

"On some other day, I might have said good riddance," he started. "Foolish rich boys. But not today, I don't think. Today, I think I'm sorry."

"I think so am I," said Hugo, voicing regret for much more than even Alexandre.

"Foolish, foolish boys," Philipe mused some more.

"So you'll tell his parents, then?" Sophie inquired after a while. Hugo nodded. "That's kind of you. Better they hear it from you than other ways. You'll at least be gentle about it."

Hugo thought carefully about his words. "I thought maybe if they got here in time, they could bury him if they want to. I don't know what will happen if they don't, but they should know so they can decide."

"Of course they'll want to," said Sophie gently. Hugo nodded.

"I just think they should find out as soon as possible," he repeated.

"My darling sister will be so devastated," Sophie mused, thinking back to Suzette's girlhood crush on the mysterious and handsome heir to the Enjolras estate. Hugo looked up at her, and she saw his eyes were moist. "I'm sorry," she backtracked. "That was wrong of me. It's not funny."

"Darling, why don't you pack him some lunch," said Phillipe. She nodded and walked toward the kitchen. He turned to address Hugo. "You'll want to get going soon, I should think. You can take the grey mare; I'll go saddle her. She won't get you there fast, but she'll get you there. And I insist that you go to your own mother first. It's noble of you to want to tell these other people about their son, but I won't lend you my horse if you intend to make your own wait."

Hugo nodded appreciatively. Phillipe had always been a kind man, eager to take Hugo under his wing since his move to the city, despite barely knowing him initially. Sophie came back into the room with a small box containing bread and cheese.

"It's not much, but you'll be glad for it," she said. "Take a break if you need one. It's a long ride."

"Thank you," said Hugo. He took the box and Sophie hugged him. "For everything." He followed Philipe, who grabbed his gun and instructed Sophie to deadbolt the door behind him, outside the house to the simple structure where his two horses were stabled. The animals, a tall black gelding and a mare with messy grey fur, were both quite old and thoroughly accustomed to a life of hard work. Philipe always treated them kindly, though. The night, with its loud noises and foreign smells had left them both in a state of high anxiety. Philipe made quick work of saddling the grey mare and bringing her to the road for Hugo.

"Can you manage?" he asked, as Hugo looked nervously at the horse.

"We shall soon see," he replied. It took him several attempts, but he managed to hoist himself into the saddle, feeling sore instantly. Philipe let out a small chuckle.

"She'll take good care of you," he said, patting the horse's neck. Hugo timidly and clumsily adjusted his stirrups and gathered the reins. Fortunately, Philipe seemed to be right. The horse stood quietly and calmly, despite Hugo's less than skillful seat.

"How much can I pay you?" Hugo asked, reaching into his pocket awkwardly.

"Get out of my sight and don't let me catch you speaking such nonsense again!" Philipe exclaimed. "Just bring her and yourself back in one piece." Hugo felt terribly guilty. But before he could say another word, Philipe slapped the horse on the rump and she trotted forward. It took all of Hugo's efforts not to fall off as he made his way down the street.


	8. Chapter 8

**I want to acknowledge a similarity to another fic that I swear is accidental! Since the writing of this story, I've found "Les Hommes de la Misericorde" by Kchan88. That one is found under books. It's a fantastic story, way way way better than this one, but I'm noticing that my characterization of Enjolras' parents is strikingly similar to that in that story. The plot is radically different, and I suspect a lot of people go a similar route with Enjolras' parents (the semi-estrangement, mother always being more understanding, etc.), but I just wanted to acknowledge that any similarities are not intended. If you want a really good Enjolras story, go check out "Les Hommes" in books; it's great. Enjoy!**

The ride to the village was exhausting. When Hugo did finally arrive, it was the afternoon, and he worried about his ability to walk after getting down from the horse. But he knew he had to walk. The poor animal seemed as tired as he was, so at first chance, he stabled her in town near the tavern, then made his way on foot to the cottage where he grew up. As tired as he was, it was incredibly refreshing to be back in the village. Hugo had been living in Paris for almost two whole years now, but he knew that he was a country-boy at heart. He savored the fresh early summer air as it filled his weary lungs, and the soft yielding feel of the dirt road beneath his aching feet. He wished desperately that he could stay indefinitely.

When he came upon the small cottage, he knocked on the front door. He felt strange doing so, but it seemed like a bad idea to let himself in, since he knew that his mother wasn't expecting him. She answered quickly.

"Oh, my God," said Adele taking in the sight. She stood in shock for a brief moment, looking at her son as if he was a mirage that might vanish at any moment. Then she let out a sob and buried her face in his chest. He had been considerably taller than her since before he was a teenager.

"So you've heard about the barricades then?" Hugo asked gently, wrapping his arms around her. He felt her nod.

"They said," she sniffed between sobs. "They said so many have been killed. I thought I'd have to wait days for a letter. I was going to leave for Paris myself before much longer I think."

"It's ok," said Hugo. "I'm here. I'm ok. I'm not hurt."

"Thank you," Adele whispered. To Hugo for coming to see her and to God for delivering him to her.

After a moment, she insisted that he come inside and he gladly complied. They sat at the table and Adele poured him a glass of inexpensive wine from the local shop where she still worked.

"I'm afraid I can't stay long," he said.

"I understand," she replied. "But I thank you so much for coming. You can't know what it means to me."

"I have a confession," he started, his expression turning serious. Now that he was here with his mother, he regretted his resolve to leave her so quickly. He chose his words carefully "There's a second reason that I'm here in town."

"What is it, dear?" Adele was immediately concerned by the grave look on his face. She shivered to think of what horrors he'd been through during the ordeal. She'd only heard bits and pieces of information, but everything made it sound like hell. Now her initial unbridled joy at the news of Hugo's safety started to give way to deep worry for him, with so much of his precious innocence stolen away in a single night.

"I need to take a walk and see Monsieur and Madame Enjolras," he said.

"What on Earth for?" Adele asked. Hugo took a deep breath and looked down at the floor.

"Alexandre was there," he said. Adele gasped slightly.

"Oh, my goodness," she began. Hugo looked up at her with tears in his eyes, tears that he could no longer call back.

"I killed him, mother," he sobbed, as if a great dam was broken. Then he withdrew from the table and buried his face in his hands. Adele was stunned and confused by this confession. She stood up and raced to his side.

"He led the insurgents at the barricade in my district," he explained through his tears. "We cornered the last of them in a cafe this morning. He was the last. He wasn't even armed at the end, but we still shot him."

Adele pulled a chair very close to his and took his hands.

"I knew it was wrong," he said. "I knew it was wrong but I did it anyway. I rationalized. I told myself that I couldn't save him. That if I convinced them to take him alive, it would only buy him a little time. Time in prison followed by a humiliating public execution. But I didn't have to shoot him. I still shot him. Oh God! I'm so ashamed! God forgive me!"

At this, Adele pulled him close to her and cradled his head against her chest like she did when he was a small child. In an outpouring of guilt and shame and sadness and pure exhaustion, he cried harder and harder. She didn't have any words, so she just held him tightly, as if doing so could protect him the way it might have years ago.

"What's almost worse is that I don't even know who else I've killed this night," he said after a while. "They were mostly just students. Some workers. Most of them not much older than me. Oh, God, there was even one little gamin boy who can't have been ten. And we killed him. We killed them. Almost all of them. I don't know who I've killed. I shot, I fired at the barricade. I know I hit a few. Someone's brothers or maybe husbands and fathers, but all of them someone's son. And I know it was my bullet in Alexandre Enjolras' chest. Mine and six or seven or maybe even eight others, but mine nonetheless. He was no terrorist! I knew that! I think I knew that before I even recognized him. Maybe none of them were! Maybe we were all along!"

"Oh, my darling," Adele whispered gently as she rubbed his back in slow circles. "I wish I knew what to say. It's terrible what you've been through, but you must not blame yourself."

"I'm so ashamed," he repeated.

"Stay here and rest a while," Adele offered. "Don't go see the Enjolras's today. Someone else will let them know in enough time."

"I have to," said Hugo. He pulled himself back and sat upright. "They need to know right away. No one will write to them; it could be a long time before they find out."

"I'm afraid it's not so simple," Adele started. "I don't know how much you've heard, but its my understanding they've had a bad falling out. I haven't seen him in the village at all in over a year. I'm good friends with the housekeeper there, and she told me a few months ago she has reason to suspect he's been disinherited."

"They need to know soon," Hugo reiterated. "Mother, if they want to bring him home, they've got to do it in the next day or two. I know the police won't keep the bodies long. Maybe they won't want to, but I took their son from them. I won't let anything stop them from burying him. I owe them that much."

Adele put a hand on his cheek. "My son," she mused. "You've always amazed me with your instincts to do right. From when you were a child." She was quiet for a moment. "It would be a lie to say I knew anything about the man Alexandre Enjolras became, but when I remember that sweet little boy he was, I'm so sad to think it ended this way for him. Go to them. But be gentle. Don't tell them it was you on this firing squad."

"How can I lie to them?" Hugo asked.

"You can because it is kinder," Adele insisted. "Kindness matters more than truth at a time like this. I don't know what's happened between them, but I know that they love him, or at least they did truly love him once and, because I am a mother, I can't imagine anything could have changed that. If there is to be a funeral, I'll be there if I can."

Hugo nodded calmly and took a deep breath.

"Take your time," said Adele. "Don't go until you're ready. You have to be strong."

* * *

The grand house on the Enjolras estate always had a way of making Hugo feel small. He never noticed it more than now, when he was walking up to it for the first time in nearly fifteen years. He timidly approached the front door and pulled the bell rope. While he waited, he considered running away and abandoning the errand. But the butler saved him from his potential act of cowardice by answering the door quickly.

"Can I help you, monsieur?" he asked. Hugo wondered if he should have worn a uniform to look more legitimate. He gave his name and told the butler that he had urgent need to speak with Monsieur and Madame Enjolras concerning their son.

"Monsieur Enjolras is out walking," began the butler. "Surely you can come another time." Hugo could tell that he was trying to get rid of him.

"Please," he insisted. "Let me speak to Madame Enjolras then. She'll want to hear what I have to say. I must leave the village tonight, but I have urgent business."

"I'm sorry, monsieur," began the butler, but he was cut off by his employer herself.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked. "Who is this?" She hadn't seem Hugo in so long; he was unsurprised that he didn't recognize her.

"Madame Enjolras," he began. "May we speak privately? I have news about your son, Alexandre."

At the mention of Alexandre's name, her face became white. "Please come in, Monsieur...?"

"Hugo," he replied. "Just call me Hugo. I don't know if you remember me, but I.."

"Your mother was Adele? The housemaid years ago?" Marie asked, beginning to recall.

"Yes, Madame," Hugo replied, as he followed her into the parlor.

"Have you spoken to Alexandre?" she asked eagerly, with a growing smile on her face that nearly broke Hugo's heart. "I wonder if you could take a message to him! Oh, forgive me, but I miss him so terribly. It makes me glad to know you two have reconnected. Please say he means to come home soon!"

"May I suggest that we sit down?" he said as carefully as he could. There were couches in the parlor. She sat in one and he sat opposite her, with a coffee table between them. Then, she studied him intently and took in the solemnity of his expression and the smile faded from her face.

"Madame, have you heard of the incident that broke out in Paris yesterday and through last night?" he began.

"Yes, vaguely," she replied. "After General Lamarque's funeral, there were riots, right? It was in the papers this morning. Some of it at least."

"Yes," Hugo replied. "All throughout Paris, students and workers and other insurgents erected barricades in the streets. It was a full blown revolt against the crown."

"Alexandre," she said quietly. This sounded exactly like something he would be involved with. His politics were a constant source of fighting in the family. He'd grown more radical every year.

"Madame, I'm a member of the National Guard," Hugo explained. "I was there for the whole night. There was a lot of fighting, a lot of casualties."

"Was Alexandre arrested?" she asked, terrified. "Please tell me if he was. I won't begrudge you for your duty if you are National Guard, but please, tell me. If he's been thrown in some jail in Paris, I need to know right away. I'll have a lawyer on his way to see him this very hour!"

"Madame," Hugo began, but she continued over him.

"He's been arrested before," she started. "He wouldn't take our help then, but this is much more serious! What if they charge him with treason? He could be killed, oh God! He has to let us help this time! I don't care what my husband will say. Please, please just tell me what jail he's in. I'll go straight to him in the morning. Surely they'll allow me to visit him. If they don't I'll pull whatever strings or bribe whatever authorities I have to! He won't face this alone, I won't let him! But I'll have the lawyer there tonight, tonight! A good one, one who can save him and bring him home safe to me!" She was frantic, desperate for this to be the news, but Hugo could tell that she realized in her heart that it wasn't.

"Madame Enjolras," he started, more firm this time. "Alexandre wasn't arrested."

She looked at him, intensely, and silently for a few seconds, with pure desperation in her eyes. Hugo didn't need words; a small shake of his head sufficed. Marie Enjolras let out a deep, choking half of a scream before bursting into tears.

"I'm so sorry," said Hugo dumbly. He didn't know what else to say.

"No, no, no, no, no," Marie mumbled between her tears. "Oh God, no!" She bent over forward with her head in her hands and sobbed without words. Hugo was silent.

"My son," she cried. "My angel! My beautiful son! Dead before I could even see him again! Oh my Alex, please forgive me!"

"Madame," Hugo began, but words failed him as she cried harder and harder.

"Did he," she started, then took a deep congested breath. "Did he suffer? Do you know if he suffered?" She finished so weakly that Hugo barely understood.

"No," said Hugo. She looked up at him, desperately. Suddenly he remembered his mother's advice that he should lie about his involvement. "No, Madame, I don't believe he suffered. I saw his body after the malay and I recognized him right away. I didn't have time to look closely but there was a single wound that I could see, and if I'm right then it was very quick. A clean shot to the heart."

She nodded, tears still flowing like waterfalls down her face. "To his or to mine?" she said at last then buried her face in a couch pillow as her wailing grew louder.

"What is going on?!" Hugo was startled by the deep voice of Monsieur Enjolras from behind him. Hugo stood immediately. Marie stayed where she was, not showing her face.

"Monsieur Enjolras," Hugo began.

"What has happened?" he demanded.

"Oh Julien!" Marie cried. "Julien, our son!"

"What?"

"Alex is dead!" she sobbed. Her husband stood motionless behind the couch. Hugo looked at him sympathetically.

"I'm so sorry Monsieur," he began, making eye contact with him.

"At these barricade riots in Paris?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

Julien Enjolras was like a statue. No tears, no outbursts. Hugo was unsure what to make of it.

"Julien!" Marie cried. She desperately longed for him to come sit and cry with her. He wouldn't though.

"So this is how my name ends," Julien mused. "My only son has thrown his life away. As a treasonous criminal to make it worse. Even in death, he finds a way to mock me."

"How can you say such a thing!" Marie snapped, sitting up. "Our son is dead!"

He ignored her and turned to Hugo. "Please leave us," he said gruffly, then reached for his billfold. "Thank you for telling Madame Enjolras about the boy. I'll give you your fare back to the city for your trouble as I presume that's where you've come from."

"I don't want any money," Hugo replied firmly. He was shocked by the reaction, but he knew he had to leave.

"Wait," Marie cried. "Please, Hugo, don't go! He doesn't mean it! I know he doesn't!"

"I'm sorry," Hugo started. "Please accept my deepest condolences." With that he quickly made his way out of the house and down the road towards the cottage, profoundly troubled by Monsieur Enjolras' reaction to the news. By now it was beginning to get late, and he hoped to be back to the city before it was dark, so he briefly stopped at the cottage to tell his mother he was off, then returned to the tavern to collect the horse. When he had finally returned to Paris, returned the horse and walked back to his flat, it was nearly midnight. He sat up drinking most of the wine he had, then fell into a restless sleep.


End file.
